


Lament of the Lyre

by keepnon



Series: Detective Inspector Bang [2]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mild Gore, Prologue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:55:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29583378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keepnon/pseuds/keepnon
Summary: The day Chan is taken is the day that Minho dies.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Series: Detective Inspector Bang [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2173437
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	1. Prologue: NOT!

_[“Us, brainwashed into the same system.”]_

There was someone in his seat.

No one ever sat there, besides Minho. All of the other kids kept away from him. They didn’t like him. They teased him. They called him weird.

The boy sitting huddled next to the window was very familiar to Minho – he usually sat at the back of the bus, glaring at anyone who dared look at him. Minho was often on the receiving end of his vicious glances. He couldn’t help it! The other boy was so cool. He was never bothered by anyone. He didn’t seem to crave attention and connection like Minho did. He could stand on his own two feet and never need help. He was like a superhero. Minho often spent his commutes home casting not-so-sneaky glances at him, which, unsurprisingly, had earned him an endless supply of scowls.

On Minho’s third week of school, he’d begun to be picked on. It was easy for him to figure out why – his family were ‘poor’, as his mother had explained. She had given up coddling him from the outside world by the time he was four. Minho was all-too aware of many of the adult problems that surrounded him. It made him both more naïve, and increasingly mature beyond his age. It could be intimidating to other children, who had lived very sheltered lives.

Not to mention, he was an excitable child. He could ramble for hours and hours about something he found interesting. He was also small and weak – an easy target – another belief his mother had instilled in him. She’d prepared him for the worst, but even then, he had never been ready for how awful reality was. He’d spent the third Monday of his first semester getting shoved to the ground and jeered at. He’d been bawling into his hands, curled up to protect himself, huddled against the wall, when the cruel teasing had suddenly stopped.

_“Leave him alone.”_

The boy sitting before him now had been the one to stand in front of his tormentors. He’d pulled himself up to his full height, eyes full of ice, and had shoved one of the bullies back. For some reason, that Minho couldn’t really understand, they’d backed off. As soon as the other boy had spat that he’d tell his father, the small gang of bullies had taken off. He’d then turned to run his eyes over Minho, a sad frown on his face. Minho had just gaped at him, and when he’d tried to introduce himself, the other boy had run off.

That day, he’d become Minho’s hero.

He’d tried to approach the other boy, many times. But the other child was a determined recluse, always running off as soon as Minho – or anyone else, for that matter – so much as looked at him. And here he was, months later, six-year-old Minho’s greatest inspiration in life, in _his seat._

“What?” The other boy spat, now glaring at him with eyes full of venom. The harsh greeting slid off Minho like water off a duck’s back. He was too busy celebrating at the prospect of having company to take heed of the prospective danger. The boy reminded Minho of a wounded animal, almost. He was lashing out, but really, he seemed quite vulnerable and harmless. And Minho was ecstatic.

“You’re sitting in my spot!” Minho exclaimed gleefully, eyes brimming with joy. “No one ever sits here except me!” The other boy froze, as if he hadn’t thought this far ahead.

“Y-yes, I know.” He muttered, looking away. “I got bored up the back.” Minho, taking this as an invitation, practically threw himself onto the seat next to the other boy. Minho couldn’t have cared less what the other boy’s motivations were, to be honest. He just couldn’t believe he had a _friend._

“I’m Minho!” He was beaming, bouncing up and down in his spot. “I’m in first grade!” The other boy shifted closer to the window, as if intimidated by Minho’s happiness. “What’s your name?”

“Chan.”

“What grade are you in?” Minho nudged his shoulder, causing Chan to flinch back.

“Second.” Minho’s mouth dropped into a little ‘ _O’._

“That’s cool!” Minho grinned at him. “You’re older than me!”

“Yeah.” Chan didn’t seem to be a conversationalist, but that was okay. Minho had enough words for the two of them. Besides, Chan hadn’t left yet. That had to mean something. Minho rationalised it as Chan was just shy. That was more than fine. Minho could help him stop being shy. “Did you have a nice day, Channie-hyung?” At this, the older boy spluttered and coughed, and his ears went bright red. 

“Ch-Channie-hyung?” The other boy exclaimed, looking mortified.

“Yeah!” Minho’s smile widened. “You can call me Minho, I don’t mind.”

“S-s-sure.” Minho was far too elated to realise how surprised Chan was. It was like the other boy had never received such affection in his entire life.

“You should come to my house and play one day, Channie-hyung.” Minho was swinging his legs back and forth, humming in contentment. He wasn’t being pushed away, for the first time in months. The other boy’s expression darkened, and he turned to look out of the window.

“I can’t.” The response was barely audible.

“Why not?” Minho began frowning. He reached out the grab Chan’s wrist. The other boy reacted as if his touch was that of a rod of molten iron. Minho’s face fell. He hadn’t meant to hurt his new friend.

“I’m sorry.” Minho whispered, ashamed. His first time having a friend, and he’d gone and ruined it. “I’m really sorry, Channie-hyung.” He began to slide out of his seat, and the older boy sighed.

“No, Minho, you can stay.” Chan glanced up at him, looking guilty. “I can’t play because my father says I can’t.”

“That’s mean.” Minho was pouting now, appeased by Chan having decided against kicking him to the curb.

“It’s for the best.” Minho just blinked at the older boy. He’d sounded just like a grown-up. Even the tone of his voice had changed.

“He doesn’t have to know.” Minho began wheedling. “Please, Channie-hyung, even just at school? Can we play at school?” The other boy hesitated, and Minho felt his shoulders slump. Chan seemed at a loss.

“Fine.” The older boy muttered, looking away. Not that it bothered Minho, of course, who was now filled with hope.

“Promise?” Minho held out his hand to the older boy. After what seemed like an eternity, Chan stretched out his own hand to clasp Minho’s.

“Okay. Promise.” Chan muttered, pointedly avoiding Minho’s stare. Minho just beamed at him, his gaze dropping to their intertwined hands. He found himself frowning yet again when his eyes landed on a string of bruises around Chan’s wrist. He made a soft noise of surprise, gently reaching out to run his fingers over the bruises. Chan had frozen, barely even seeming to breathe.

“Did the mean boys hurt you?” Minho whispered, eyes wide. Chan just shook his head, turning to stare out of the window.

“It wasn’t them.” Chan murmured, pulling his hand away and hiding it in his lap.

“Then how –”

“Be quiet.” Minho flinched at the rough response. Once again, he was struck by how much Chan sounded like a grown-up – like he was copying someone.

“Okay,” Minho hummed. “Channie-hyung, let’s be best friends.” The older boy just stared at him for a moment. Then, Minho could have _sworn_ that his lips twitched at one corner, as if…as if he was smiling.

“Fine.” Chan was grumbling, but now his lips were upturned at each corner.


	2. Interlude: WHO?

_[“What’s the reason for my real existence?”]_

“I’ll kill him.” Fourteen-year-old Minho spat, pacing back and forth. “I really will.”

“You know it wouldn’t change anything.” Chan sighed, leaned back against the wall. They were hanging out on the rooftop of Minho’s apartment block after school, a tradition they’d now had for eight years. Best friends, partners in crime, and kindred spirits. They were practically inseparable. Unless, of course, when it came to Chan’s father. The older boy rubbed at his arms, as if that would erase the bruises littering his skin. His sweater lay abandoned next to him. Despite the stifling heat, Chan refused to wear short-sleeved tops around others. Minho was the exception, of course.

“Yes, it would.” Minho threw himself down next to his best friend, scowling at his shoes. “Then you and me could take over this stupid city together and I could stop anyone from hurting you ever again.”

“Maybe one day.” Chan hummed, ever unbothered.

“I know you don’t believe me, but just watch.” Minho huffed in response. “One day I’ll save you.” At this, Chan just laughed. He shuffled closer to Minho, flopping down so that his head was resting in his friend’s lap.

“I’ll wait for the day you become my knight in shining armour, instead of being the damsel all the time.” Chan teased, smirking up at him. Minho just glowered back.

“Shut up.” He knew that his friend had been teasing him, but the words still stung. Chan was forever saving him. Whether it was from bullies, from their scary teachers, from his own miserable existence – Chan was always the one coming to his rescue. Minho hated it. He hated having to rely on Chan so much. While the older boy was his hyung, Minho wanted Chan to be able to look to him, as well. He wanted – no, _needed_ – Chan to see him as strong and courageous. He hated that Chan was always putting himself in danger on his account. His emotions had probably shown too freely on his face, because now Chan was frowning up at him.

“Hey, you know I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” Chan’s voice was soft. “Stop being stupid.”

“Don’t call me stupid, stupid.” Minho shot back. Chan’s lips twitched at the corners at the familiar retort, and soon Minho found himself smiling back. Dammit. He could never stay mad whenever Chan looked at him like that.

“Stupid.” At this, Minho couldn’t help but laugh. He felt himself relax, and allowed himself to lean back against the wall. Absentmindedly, he began carding his fingers through Chan’s hair.

“Watch it, Channie-hyung.”

“Or what, Minho-yah?” Chan winked at him, and Minho suddenly felt his heart stop for a moment. His stomach felt like it had been filled with soda, like his gut was full of bubbles that were popping and fizzing. He found his response was stuck in his throat, his tongue suddenly forgetting how to articulate words. He looked away, his face feeling like it was on fire.

He was the only one who got to see this side of Chan. To everyone else, Chan was cold, sometimes even downright cruel. He would glare at anyone who looked at him – that much hadn’t changed since Minho had first spoken to him, all those years ago. To his colleagues – Chan hated to use the word ‘subordinates’ – he was all business and was a downright ruthless leader. His father had already given him control over a small handful of his most loyal employees – or ‘sheep’, as Chan called them – and he’d seen the way that Chan looked at them all, like they were less than a speck of dirt on his shoe.

_“I can’t stand the fact that they think my father is a good man.”_

Minho couldn’t disagree with him. The men and women that were under Chan’s supervision would willingly die for Kwang-hoon, despite owing him nothing. They genuinely believed in his vision. They wanted him to succeed and would die trying to help him grasp ultimate control of his ever-expanding empire.

He knew what it was like, to want to pledge your life to someone. But Minho understood them, to an extent. For Chan, he was loyal to a fault. For Chan, he would do anything. Chan had scoffed at him when he’d said that, which had left Minho confused. Wasn’t it a good thing, wanting to live your life as a loyal friend, a steadfast companion, a dependable comrade?

_“Don’t live your life for me.”_

_‘But what if I_ want _to?’_ Minho frowned as he thought about his best friend’s words. He didn’t _want_ to do anything else with his life. School sucked, his family sucked, _life_ sucked, and Chan – _being_ with Chan – was the only thing that didn’t. Chan had insisted that one day, when they grew up, he’d figure out a reason to live for himself, and only for himself, but Minho was still waiting for that to happen. And in his mind, he’d grown up more than enough to have figured it out by now.

“Min-ah?” Chan’s soft call, full of concern, broke him out of his thoughts. He realised that he was scowling, and quickly smiled down at the older boy.

“Watch it, Channie-hyung.” He repeated, twirling a strand of Chan’s dark hair around his finger. “Or you’ll be stuck with me forever.” Chan’s expression softened, and he reached out to grab Minho’s hand, tangling their fingers together.

“Sure. I like that idea.” Minho bit back his grin, trying not to seem too eager.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”


	3. Outro: YOU.

_[“If I could do anything for you, I’d do it no matter what.”]_

“Come on, baby, this way.”

_Baby._

Minho could have died on the spot. He stood stock still, unable to stop the goofy grin that had spread over his face.

“Hehe.” He couldn’t stop the pleased little giggle that fell from his lips. But Chan turned to him and frowned, tugging nervously on the scarf around his neck.

“Ah, I’m sorry, I thought maybe you’d like it if I called you that.” Chan looked at his feet, the tips of his ears turning bright red as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable or –”

“N-no!” Minho blurted out, latching onto Chan’s hand. “Never, Channie, never, I – I was just really happy.” The shy smile that spread across his lips lasted for a few moments before he swallowed it down, glancing around them with narrowed eyes. They could never be too careful. Chan was already watched constantly, after the last two plots against him had failed. The one when he was nine hadn’t been as gruesome. It had been clumsy – a failed kidnapping. It had been no match for Kwang-hoon, with his army of intelligence and manpower.

The one when Chan was thirteen, that had been the worst. A string of corpses, random letters carved into their flesh or burned onto their skin, had been planted for Chan to find. Then they’d gone after him. Chan had nearly died four years ago. And now…well, if the cycle was to repeat itself, they were due to strike that very week. There’d already been six victims, the same as last time. As soon as the first body had shown up, Minho had barely been able to sleep. He hadn’t left Chan’s side, sticking to him like glue.

But Minho hadn’t been able to resist Chan’s pleading smile when he’d asked to go to the markets. He could never really say no to his boyfriend, after all. The smile that he’d given Chan was a rare one in public, now. The fact that Chan would so seamlessly drop something like _baby_ into his sentences meant a lot to Minho. Chan was so guarded now, knowing that his father was onto his every move.

But he had trouble controlling himself around Minho – those were Chan’s words, not his! Minho knew it was dangerous, and yet there was a small thrill about it. Knowing that Chan was trying so hard to wear his normal façade, and yet being unable to simply because of Minho’s very _presence._ It was hard not to preen.

Minho, on the other hand, was a far cry from the happy, innocent six-year-old he’d been when he first met his boyfriend. After seeing Chan go through two attempts on his life and having to comfort him through all of the bloodshed and terror, Minho had learned to harden up.

He was still determined to save Chan, one day.

This time, he hoped he’d be able to kill whoever was after his boyfriend. It may have seemed a bit extreme, but Minho had long-since been privy to Kwang-hoon’s underground empire. Ever since Chan had run into that first body, and had started shaking, eyes wide and breathing hoarse and nails digging into his hands and _‘Minnie, Minnie, I’m scared –’_

“So, I _can_ call you baby?” Chan had moved closer while Minho had lapsed into thought, but the sudden whisper in his ear startled him back to the present. He blushed at their proximity, eyes immediately darting to Chan’s lips.

“Yeah.” Minho whispered. He threaded their fingers together, unable to stop a wide smile from spreading over his lips. He felt like all the blood had rushed to his head. He was giddy.

Minho didn’t believe in the supernatural. He wished he did, because it would let Minho believe in a far lovelier version of events. It would be nice if Chan was haunted by a vengeful spirit, like a gwishin. But no, he was being targeted by humans, fuelled by greed and a lust for power. Minho also didn’t believe in magic. If magic was real, he’d have been able to cast a protection spell by now.

And he didn’t believe in fate, as a rule. He refused to believe that Chan was born just to be destined to constantly be targeted.

But one thing he did believe in – even though he was suspicious of fate – was soulmates. Chan was his soulmate, and he believed it without the shadow of a doubt. He knew that it was typical of sixteen-year-olds to have this whole obsession with ‘forever’ in their relationships, but him and Chan…they were different. Minho knew that if Chan died, it would destroy him. He could read Chan’s mind as if it was his own. He always felt a thrill when Chan appeared. Just one look at Chan’s smile made everything okay.

He loved Chan so much. Chan was home, Chan was his family, Chan was his _reason._ For existing, for striving to be better, to train hard, to do well at school, to _breathe._ Maybe it was a little intense, but Minho didn’t care. So when Chan froze, eyes darting around, face hardening, Minho was instantly on high alert.

The two boys exchanged a glance, and nodded. It seemed like Chan’s attackers were a few days ahead of schedule. That was fine. Minho could handle it. If it was for Chan, he could handle anything.

Then the world exploded.

Minho was thrust to the ground by Chan, and a wave of heat rushed over them. He cracked his eyes open, filled with dread as he saw rubble beginning to rain down around them. An explosion, huh? This was new. Last time they’d gone with a gun. Chan’s arms were wrapped tightly around him, and the older boy’s face was buried in his neck.

“You okay, baby?” Chan’s voice was soft, and it made his heart want to melt. But he couldn’t let it. He had to be strong now. The only thought that really registered was that Chan, despite being the intended victim, still threw himself at Minho, acting as a human shield. Sudden rage flared through him. For once, could Chan not take care of himself first?! Why could he not see that he was Minho’s top priority?!

_“I’ll save you.” But Chan frowned at this, instead of being happy, like Minho had expected._

_“You should save yourself first, Minho. If something happened to you, I couldn’t take it.”_

Minho gritted his teeth and extricated himself from Chan’s hold, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend. He inhaled deeply, wrinkling his nose when he detected the acrid stench of smoke. He glanced around, freezing when he realised that smoke was now beginning to billow around them. Chan’s guards would have little to no visibility. No one would be able to see them. He started trembling as he realised the reality of what was likely about to happen. He opened his mouth to scream for help, when a hand roughly grabbed his hair and threw his head into the cement.

“Chan –” Panic flared in his chest. They’d never gotten this close before. Even when they’d tried to abduct Chan, Kwang-hoon’s guards had been on them within moments. But this time, it seemed like no one was coming. A foot was sunk into his side, and pain stabbed through his ribs. Minho cried out in pain and anger, lashing out blindly at his attacker.

“Minho! Fuck, let me go! Let me get them!” Chan was struggling against his hold. But Minho knew that if he let Chan go, they’d take him. Chan would try and protect him, and they’d kill him. He felt hysterical. He didn’t know what to do. He’d prepared for this moment for four years, and yet he was frozen. He wanted to cry, he wanted to run and hide, he just wanted it all to be over.

The air filled with the scent of iron, and warm liquid began to trickle down Minho’s neck. He wiped it off his neck, bringing it towards his face.

_Blood._

He forced himself to sit up, hauling Chan upright with him. Oh god, there was so much blood. Chan’s shirt was bathed in red and blood was now pooling at their feet. They’d stabbed him, Minho realised with horror. Minho felt adrenaline begin to flood through him. He glanced around desperately, his terror rising as he saw that they had at least ten strangers gathering around them.

“Channie,” He couldn’t help but whimper, like a wounded animal. “Channie-hyung, let me know that you’re okay.”

“I’m here, Min-ah.” Chan whispered, and he almost sobbed in relief. Then a kick landed on his head, and Minho’s grip on consciousness wavered. The world blurred around him for a moment. But before he had time to recover, another kick came. And another, and another. He could hear Chan screaming, felt his boyfriend clawing desperately at his arms. The only coherent thought left in Minho’s brain was _‘do not let go.’_

Then Chan cried out in pain, and Minho desperately tried to drag himself back to coherency. Minho tried to call out. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t speak – and then, right before his eyes, Chan was torn from his hands. Strong arms shoved him away, as more men dragged Chan along the ground.

He was numb. He was ice. He was invisible.

 _“Channie-hyung!”_ He screamed, over and over until it felt like his throat was being ripped to shreds. “Bring him back!” He sobbed, wrapping his arms around himself. “Please come back, Channie-hyung please, I need you, I love you, please _don’t leave me!”_ His voice rose in pitch again until he was screaming once more.

Minho was kicked to the ground, his face slammed into the concrete again and again until his vision stuttered, and the world began to shake.

He was nothing.

He couldn’t feel a thing.

All he knew was that Chan was gone, never to return.

 _‘I’ll save you.’_ Is all that remains in his mind before he succumbs to darkness. _‘I promise.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the lyre is the symbol of orpheus. on his wedding day, his lover eurydice was bitten by a viper. 
> 
> after her death, he was so full of grief that the songs he played with his lyre made all of the gods and nymphs weep with him.
> 
> prologue to presque vu! i hope this gives a little bit more insight into minho's character, and how much he has struggled now that he has chan back, after all of this has happened to him. i'm so sorry minho )): 
> 
> thank you so much for reading and i'll see you over at presque vu. keep an eye out for han's prologue!  
> \- c


End file.
